


Footing the Bill

by fucker



Category: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - All Media Types, Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: M/M, Mild Smut, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22750453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fucker/pseuds/fucker
Summary: Nevada would do anything for Caractacus, including Valentine's Day.
Relationships: Caractacus Potts/Nevada Ramirez
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32
Collections: Nevactacus





	Footing the Bill

**Author's Note:**

> It's only one day late please forgive me 😔
> 
> Title stolen from [adrianna_m_scovill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/)

"You said there was a dress code." Caractacus frowned accusingly at Nevada's casual outfit, the trademark black leather and denim that suited him so well. To his credit he did look slightly less wrinkled than usual, but had put in no visible effort beyond that. 

"I lied." Nevada stole a kiss before Caractacus could scold him. "I like you in a suit."

"I look ridiculous," Caractacus complained, waving a hand up and down the block at the dozens of couples who were out to celebrate Valentine's day as if to illustrate a point, though many of the men— and quite a few of the women— were dressed similarly, and not a single one had spared him a second glance.

"Mm, you're right." Nevada tugged at the knot of Caractacus's bowtie, loosening the horrible yellow-and-blue plaid abomination from his neck and disentangling it from his collar. He plucked the matching linen square from Caractacus's breast pocket as well, tucking both inside his jacket for safekeeping. "There we go, much better."

"Now I look even _more_ ridiculous, Nevada."

Nevada wasn't done yet. He reached up to unfasten Caractacus's top button, and one more for good measure. He let his fingers linger against the other man's skin just long enough to watch his pupils dilate, then dropped both hands back to his sides with a crooked smirk. "You look sexy. _Vamos_ , it's fucking freezing out here."

Caractacus was pouting a bit at the loss of his accessories, but he fell into step next to Nevada all the same. "You could've just asked me to wear a suit, you know."

"What did you wear last time I asked?"

"Um." Caractacus was suddenly very interested in his toes. "I don't remember."

"You think it mighta matched the tie in my pocket?"

Caractacus tried and failed to keep a guilty grin from spreading across his face. "Maybe."

“Wearing a suit once a year won’t kill you.”

“It might. Besides, maybe I was saving the occasion for your birthday.”

"You know damn well you ain't allowed to wear clothes on my birthday." Nevada stopped short, and Caractacus nearly went head over heels following suit. "Here we go."

They had stopped in front of the only wooden doors on the block; in fact the only wooden doors he'd seen on the way over. "Martin's", the sign over the door proclaimed in a clean block serif font— that specific Manhattan brand of obnoxiously hip, pretentious and infuriatingly nondescript all at once. The menu, in a pristine frame to the left of the door, was neat, minimalistic, and glaringly devoid of prices. 

Caractacus took one look at the place and raised his eyebrows at Nevada in disbelief. "You hate overpriced food."

"And you love it." Nevada swung the door open with one hand and grabbed Caractacus's ass with the other, steering him into the lobby. "Get in here before I change my mind."

The place was crowded, every single table occupied, but service was quick nonetheless. They found themselves seated as soon as they walked in despite the fake name that Nevada had used for the reservation, and their drinks weren't far behind— a double bourbon for Nevada, and, to Nevada's very blatant dismay, a Shirley Temple for Caractacus. The noise level was surprisingly subdued, and the men barely found themselves having to raise their voices across the table at all. 

Caractacus, despite being mid-sentence minutes deep into a conversation about the new generation of iPhones, managed to catch the waiter's eye first, and he smiled as the man approached their table. 

"How are you gentlemen doing this evening?"

The question was very obviously directed at Caractacus, who beamed up at him. "Great, thanks, how are you?"

"I'm well, thank you, sir. Are you ready to order or should I come back in a few?"

"I think we're ready to order, please."

The waiter nodded, looking at Caractacus expectantly. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll have the salmon, please, and he'll have the ribeye."

"Of course, sir. How would you like that cooked?"

Nevada was glaring daggers across the table, clearly furious that the waiter had taken Caractacus to be the higher authority between the two of them. Caractacus deliberately ignored him, continuing his order. "Rare, please, and hold the veggies."

"And the salmon?"

"Medium."

"Perfect, anything else I can get for you gentlemen?"

"I think that will do it, thank you."

Their waiter nodded again and headed back to the kitchen, Nevada's eyes boring into the back of his starched white shirt the entire time. He only turned his attention back to Caractacus once the double doors had swung shut, his anger visibly dissipating as Caractacus fixed him with an innocent look. 

"Fuck was that?"

Caractacus shrugged. "It's the suit."

"You think you're cute, huh?"

"No, but I know _you_ do."

"Oh, so you're funny now." Nevada kicked playfully at his feet under the table, but quickly found his leg trapped between Caractacus's. Undeterred, he used his free foot for leverage and hooked his pinned foot behind Caractacus's ankle to pull his shoe off, sliding it to his side of the booth out of the inventor's reach. 

" _Hey_." Caractacus glared indignantly across the table, shuffling blindly around with his feet in an attempt to find and retrieve his shoe. "Give that back."

"No."

"You are such a child," Caractacus complained, scooting to the edge of his seat in order to stretch his legs to the other side of the booth. He found his shoe alright, but Nevada had it tucked securely under his own heel, and Caractacus realized that there was no way he was getting it back short of crawling under the table. He scowled. "It's illegal to be without shoes in a restaurant, you know."

"I wouldn't know. Never committed a crime in my life."

"Nevada, give me my—" 

Nevada very slowly, _very_ deliberately dragged the toe of his boot up the sole of Caractacus's foot and the inventor cut himself off with a squeak, silverware and glasses rattling as he reflexively jerked away from Nevada and sent his knee straight up into the bottom of the table. He grimaced, glancing around the nearby tables and mouthing a quick apology at the few people who'd been startled by the noise. 

Above the table Caractacus was doing his best to project casual and unbothered, but Nevada, deceptively quick when he wanted to be, had pinned Caractacus's leg between his thigh and the tabletop before he could set his foot back down. Below the table Caractacus was strainingly tense, his toes curled tight and steeled for the inevitable embarrassment that was coming. 

" _Relájate_ ," Nevada urged, gripping Caractacus by the heel and pulling his foot into his lap. "I'm being nice today."

Caractacus eyed him suspiciously, refusing to loosen a single muscle. "Why?"

"'S Valentine's day."

"You hate Valentine's day."

Nevada shrugged. "Corporate scam of a holiday, but my boyfriend's a fucking sap."

Caractacus had half a mind to protest, but the offense was quickly forgiven as Nevada pressed a thumb into the sole of his foot and began to work at his aching muscles. He slumped back against the booth with a contented sigh and closed his eyes, flexing his foot and happily wiggling his toes against Nevada's practiced fingers.

"So tell me about your day."

"What?" Immediately suspicious again, Caractacus cracked one eye to squint at him. "Why?"

"It's called making conversation, _tonto_. Want me to skip to the part where I tell you what I'm loosening you up for?"

"You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't what?" Nevada motioned around the packed room. "Wouldn't bring up the footjob I'm talking you into later in front of all these people? It's a restaurant, not fucking chur—"

" _Okay, Jesus, point taken_ ," Caractacus hissed, digging his heel into Nevada's thigh. Nevada smirked but stopped talking. "My day was fine. Boring."

"Boring, huh." Alternating between fingertips and knuckles, Nevada continued to press and knead at Caractacus's foot, warming his cold, tired muscles up.

"Extremely. Fixed Mrs. Greenberg's TV and stayed for tea, and I'd be willing to bet money that you don't want to hear about how all six of her cats are doing."

"I'd be crazy to take that bet. What else you do?"

"Nothing." _A white lie. He’d spent the rest of the day baking brownies— one pan for Nevada and a second batch for himself— and tidying up so that the two of them could come home to a spotless apartment and homemade dessert._ "Some laundry."

"We gotta get you out of the house more."

"Yeah, yeah, you always say that." Caractacus sighed as Nevada curled a hand over the top of his foot and tugged gently, and he slouched in his seat to inch his heel up the other man's thigh. Nevada rewarded Caractacus by digging deep into the tender ligaments between his toes, drawing a quiet groan from him. "How was _your_ day?"

"Boring." Nevada grinned at Caractacus's mildly irritated expression. "Had to check on a few things this morning and finish my Valentine's shopping."

Caractacus perked up at that, pleasantly surprised. As much as Nevada constantly denounced the holiday as fake and a scam, he'd seemed to genuinely warm to it over the past few years after he'd realised that Caractacus actually took it seriously. "Valentine's shopping?" he asked, unable to contain his curiosity. 

"Mhmm." Nevada fished a small, plain box out of his pocket and nudged it across the table to Caractacus, who eagerly picked it up and shook it, the contents rattling loudly enough to draw momentary attention from the neighboring table. "Go ahead, you can open it."

"What is it?"

"Thought it was about time I put a ring on my boy toy."

" _Wh_ —" Caractacus dropped the gift, his knee slamming into the table again. "A— a _what?_ "

Nevada laughed at the look of shock on his face. He reached across the table and flipped the box towards Caractacus with a single finger, a slight smirk threatening to turn into a full-blown grin as the lid fell off and the ring rolled out onto the spotless linen tablecloth. Caractacus stared for a long moment, his ears slowly but steadily turning a deep shade of red as he examined the gift lying on the table. 

"Gentlemen."

Caught by surprise, Caractacus started and clapped a shaky hand over the cockring, looking guiltily up at their waiter, who quickly— though not quite quickly enough— flicked his gaze away from the inventor's hand. 

"Your, um, steak." The waiter set Nevada's plate down heavily, followed by Caractacus's. "And salmon. Is there anything else I can, uh...?"

Caractacus shook his head vigorously, and the man left their table with a remarkably professional nod only slightly undermined by the look of relief on his face as he retreated to the kitchen. Caractacus watched the doors swing shut out of the corner of his eye, then finally broke eye contact with the tablecloth to raise his head and glare at Nevada, whose shoulders were shaking with laughter. 

"I hate you."

" _Me amas_."

"Both." Caractacus picked up the ring and turned it over in his palm, examining the machined metal. His face was still burning but he diligently ignored his embarrassment, curiosity winning out as always.

The ring was a decent size; thick, smooth, and a satisfying weight in his palm. It wasn't black, like the few that Nevada owned, but it didn't appear to be silver either— the surface wasn't particularly reflective, which made it difficult to tell in the dim light, but next to the silverware it looked almost red in color. He tilted his head to one side, watching the metal turn from red to gold with the change in angle.

"Rose gold," Nevada explained through a mouthful of steak. "Black ain't your color."

"Jesus, Nevada, this isn't... it's not real gold, is it?"

"Fuck no. 'S titanium."

"How did you know what, um... you know, size?"

"Muscle memory." Nevada swallowed his mouthful of food, washed it down with the last of his drink, and curled his hand into a loose fist to demonstrate. Caractacus's scowl only encouraged him and he made a series of slow jerking motions, grinning when Caractacus kicked him under the table. "Lemme have that back."

"Have what back?"

"This." Nevada nudged at the back of Caractacus's ankle with his boot. " _Dame_."

"Fine," Caractacus obediently set his foot back in Nevada's lap. "But don't tickle me."

"'Course not." 

Nevada wrapped a hand around Caractacus's ankle and slid down in his seat, and Caractacus suddenly found his toes pressed against Nevada's fly. He sat bolt upright, attempting to covertly tug his leg free without knocking the table and drawing attention to himself again. Nevada, meanwhile, was nonchalantly shoveling more food into his mouth, his shoulder flexing ever so slightly in time with Caractacus's struggles the only indicator that he was exerting any effort whatsoever.

" _Nevada_ ," Caractacus hissed, trying to work his foot out from between the other man's legs.

"Keep squirming like that and you're gonna make me hard."

" _People are looking_."

"Nobody's looking." 

Nevada let him go all the same, and Caractacus, blushing furiously, quickly pulled his foot back to his side of the table. He shoved the ring into his pocket and fumbled with his silverware, so flustered that it took him three attempts just to cut a piece of his salmon. He refused to make eye contact with Nevada for the better part of five minutes, methodically cutting his fish into bite-size pieces and focusing on breathing as slowly as possible to ease his pounding heart back into a more regular rhythm. When he did finally look up again, Nevada was watching him with a slight smile, and Caractacus immediately scowled at him again.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're cute."

Casual compliments from Nevada were few and far between, and Caractacus looked back down at the table to hide his grin. Between Nevada's distractions he'd barely touched his food though all he'd had since breakfast was a tiny bit of brownie batter, and he quickly and unceremoniously wolfed his way through the small pile of green beans on his plate before his attention could get pulled away again. 

"Hungry?"

"Starving." 

Caractacus finished his veggies without further interruption, then started on his rice. He finished that without incident too, only looking up again once he'd cleaned the left side of his plate. Nevada was watching quietly, that same small smile still tugging at his lips. 

"What?" Caractacus asked again, instantly self-conscious.

"Nothing." Nevada stabbed at the last bit of steak on his plate and scooped up what was left of the mashed potatoes, dragging his forkful through a few remaining drops of sauce and shoveling the lot into his mouth with an appreciative grunt. 

Caractacus watched him, forcing his nerves down as he carefully set his foot on the edge of Nevada's seat. The fact that he could feel the tablecloth through his thin sock was a small comfort, shielding at least some of his actions from the rest of the room. He waited for Nevada to finish chewing, then slowly pressed his toes into the other man's inseam, just above the knee. Nevada's head snapped up, his eyes widening and face splitting into a grin as Caractacus slid his foot higher. 

"Look at you, you learn fast."

"I'm a hands-on learner." Caractacus found Nevada's fly again, feeling for his zipper and pressing insistently against it. 

"Mmm, you always have been. 'S why I like you."

Caractacus pressed harder against the stiff denim, his eyebrows flying up in surprise as he found that Nevada was already half-hard in his jeans. 

Nevada smirked at his look of shock, slouching slightly to push himself against Caractacus's exploring toes. "Told you, I like you in a suit."

"I didn't know you liked it _that_ much." Caractacus followed his example, slumping down in his seat for a few extra inches of reach. He settled the sole of his foot flat over Nevada's cock, stroking the significant bulge of his semi with as much coordination as he could manage. 

"People are looking," Nevada teased, slowly dragging two fingers up the side of Caractacus's arch.

Caractacus shivered slightly at the contact and swallowed the momentary panic that rose in his chest, hoping it didn't show. Every instinct was urging him to look around, just in case, but he ignored them all. "Nobody's looking."

The familiar feel of Nevada was oddly comforting, and Caractacus sighed happily, rubbing as much of Nevada’s length as he could reach. He wasn’t being nearly as rough as he normally would, his thigh already aching from the uncomfortable angle without any extra exertion on his part, but Nevada was clearly enjoying himself as much if not more than usual. It was no secret why, but Caractacus had never really seen his exhibitionist side out in full force, and it was making him begin to reconsider his own reluctance to take things any further than first base in public.

Nevada let his head fall back against the cushioned booth for a moment, watching Caractacus from underneath heavy eyelids. Caractacus curled his toes, kneading at him through his pants and watching with satisfaction as his jaw tightened ever so slightly in response. He could feel Nevada slowly but steadily hardening and he bit his lip, the desire to see and touch suddenly overwhelming, and the inability to do anything about it adding an acute level of frustration to his arousal. 

"Come on." Nevada read his mind, seemingly snapping to his senses. He kicked Caractacus’s shoe back across to him with a jerk of his head, and Caractacus was quick to put it back on as Nevada stood and tucked two bills under his empty glass, shamelessly adjusted his pants, then held out a hand to Caractacus. "Let's go before I have to drag you to the bathroom."

“I, um,” Caractacus looked down at his lap, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I need a minute.”

“Really? Just from that?” Nevada was mocking him, but at the same time he was trying to remedy the situation; reaching over Caractacus to grab his coat, folding it vertically down the middle, and holding it out to the inventor with a wink. “We can hit the alley next door if you want.”

“Romantic.” Caractacus accepted his coat and gingerly stood, grateful for the fact that Nevada was using his body to block most of the room’s view of him. He carefully patted down his front and draped his jacket over a forearm, adjusting it over his crotch until he was satisfied that nothing could be seen. “Okay, ready.”

“Alright.” Nevada stepped aside, ushering Caractacus out of the booth ahead of him. “Let’s get out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to [message](https://fuckerao3.tumblr.com/ask) or [DM](https://www.tumblr.com/message/fuckerao3) me with questions, suggestions, or requests (no promises), or if you'd like to beta!


End file.
